


Thrift Shop

by arcanemoody



Series: Metamour [5]
Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: (obvi), F/M, Found Family, Lab Partners in Crime, Lovecraftian Shenanigans, M/M, Meg Halsey Lives, Polyamory, References to Lovecraft, Shopping, Trauma Recovery, V-Shaped Relationship, house rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanemoody/pseuds/arcanemoody
Summary: They've got three weeks to just squeak by until their next financial aid disbursements and morale in the house is low. Meg has an idea.
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Megan Halsey/Herbert West
Series: Metamour [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1213551
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Thrift Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place two weeks after [We Wish You a Scary Solstice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957497).

The warm and oddly friendly glow from Solstice lasts a full week; a time of plenty that leaves behind a frigid winter and a dwindling cupboard. 

Meg does what she can to contribute to the household. Miracle of miracles, the Dean’s office has decided she can keep her tuition waiver through the end of her degree program. That will cover the cost of her classes. As for books, class materials, food, clothing and  _ a roof over her head _ … those are another story. 

She can’t sell the house until after probate. Their assistantships are all set to resume at the start of the Spring semester, leaving them with three weeks to just squeak by as best they can. Meg gets to know the local food pantry (who seem to recognize her from the newspaper headlines and loads two boxes instead of one). She keeps herself warm by layering Dan’s band shirts over her hospital scrubs and, occasionally, the one chunky holiday sweater she managed to forget at his place last year. 

The late night sojourns down to the basement are the coldest. Bad for nerve endings, but good for the remaining samples from the cadaver too large to fit in the murder fridge.

“You’re going to contaminate the swabs,” West sniffs, still in shirt sleeves despite the cold.

She bites down on the reminder that her knee-length sweater (silver stars and shining trapezohedron on a white background) was knitted with synthetic fibers. Unlike plant or protein-based fibers, if they shed, they will be easily separated from the samples, including the controls that are already resting in inert formula.

“It’s ten degrees out, West,” she intones. “If you want me to take it off, just ask. Otherwise, pass me the box of gloves on the counter.”

He does. Quickly.

\--

Ironically, their probate paperwork (hers and West’s) arrives on the same day, three hours apart, delivered by the same bewildered courier. 

“That’s from Dr. Gruber?” Dan asks, right as West slams the door shut in the man’s face.

“Yes,” he says, tearing open the envelope to sort through a half-inch stack of paper. “Three months to make sure there weren’t any statutory entitlements. Another month to translate everything into English. I told them I speak German. I couldn’t have lived very well in Zurich if I hadn’t.”

“Well, I speak English and this stuff still baffles me.” She sweeps her own paperwork to the side of the coffee table, leaving a spot for West. “Daddy told me what he wanted every year after my mom died -- that’s the only reason I know what half of this means.”

“I never had to sign any papers at all,” Dan comments. “Everything of mine was held in trust for my care until I turned 21, then my aunt signed over what was left.”

“How much was left?”

“Enough for a small U-Haul and a tank full of gas to get to Johns Hopkins. ‘Didn’t take much -- I only had three boxes to my name plus a cat carrier.”

“Huh.” West hums thoughtfully. “That does explain your extreme nesting tendencies.”

Meg does her best to conceal her smile. An unexpected benefit of giving Dan the go-ahead to pursue his high strung housemate has been watching him occasionally react to West the way the rest of the world does. 

“Extreme… What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Come on, Daniel. What college student buys as many second-hand antiques as you do?”

“You’re one to talk! How quickly did you fill up the basement with stolen medical equipment?”

“Stolen. Not bought and decidedly  _ not antique _ . We wouldn’t have been able to gather data last week with an antique centrifuge.”

“Yeah, thanks Meatball. Steal us a toaster next time you get sticky fingers! I’m tired of heating the oven up to 350 every time I want to make beans on toast!”

Meg laughs. Laughs and laughs until she slips and falls off the couch. When she’s finally able to catch her breath, both Dan and West are staring at her.

“I take it we all need to make a trip to the thrift store?” she asks. “Because I’ve got about eight dollars in cash until my financial aid disbursement next month.”

Dan pats down his pockets. “I’ve got… 11.50? Maybe some more if we check the couch cushions.”

West looks down, uncommonly silent. 

\--

Mother Hydra’s Consignment was officially attached to the Church of Dagon though no parish had existed in Arkham for at least a century (devotees of the Deep Ones largely preferring the coastal waters of Kingsport and Innsmouth). The location in the historic square was built into the side of an old bank, emptied out by Spanish Flu in 1918; briefly converted into a soup kitchen during the Great Depression. All before the local covens and the university pooled their resources to restore the  Rue d'Auseil and the Gaslight District.

The shop sold clothes, books and records, housewares (including altar gear and iconography for the local covens). It had an eerie quality that attracted as many locals as it repelled tourists. Quite a few of the electronics glowed on the shelves, some without being plugged in. A Victrola was always playing somewhere in the shop — the same 78rpm over and over though. In all the years that she’d wandered the aisles (an ice cream in one hand and a pile of loose change in the other), Meg had never been able to locate the record player  _ or  _ the hand that kept turning it over.

“Shall we say the same as last time?” Dan asks, smirking as though he’s already guessed the answer. He’s been to Mother Hydra’s several times with her in the last year, always emerging with a planned item and three he didn’t.

Meg nods.

“Last time?” West asks, eyes wide. Meg’s not sure he’s blinked from the time that they entered the shop.

“‘Thrift shop.’ A group of friends walk in with a set amount of cash, something easily divided. Each person gets assigned a section of the shop to buy as many strange but useful things as they like without blowing their budget,” she explains. “The person who walks out with the most cash remaining is the winner. The one with the least cash leftover buys lunch.”

“How does one qualify ‘strange but useful?’” he asks, turning his face up to address the question to their boyfriend. 

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Dan grins. “I want housewares, kitchen, and furniture.”   
  
“ _ Nester _ ,” she laughs. “I want women’s clothing, shoes, the devils’ bin and Aisle 5.”

“Deal. Herbert, are you playing?”

“No, I’ll leave that to the both of you, thank you very much.”

“That’s ten dollars each then,” Dan replies, dropping a handful of coins and crumpled bills into Meg’s waiting hands. “Half an hour?”

“Let’s make it 20 minutes,” she says. “I’m starving and I’m  _ definitely _ going to need some caffeine after this.”

“Fair enough. 1,2,3 go!”

\--

In the aftermath of seasonal donations, clothing at Mother Hydra’s was sold by the pound. Meg picks through the women’s section at length -- grabbing thermals, chemises, a couple of camis, the one pair of jeans in her size. She briefly contemplates diverting to the shoe section and getting a pair of high heels or flats. Swallows the thought at the back of her head that this is potentially a waste, even in the context of the game.

She has a closet full of clothes in a house she can’t make herself go to and won’t be able to sell for another month. Even once the house is sold, she has no idea how she is going to clear it out without movers or opening a recess of secrets to someone who knows her too well. She still can’t fathom letting her extended family root through her personal belongings let alone Dan or West. People who suddenly knew about the nightmare she’d been living through since her mom died and “Uncle Carl” had re-entered their lives… it’s mortifying. Nauseating.

Kicking the thought aside, she grabs a plushie from the devil’s bin instead, before running headlong into West halfway to housewares. The urge to chastise her boyfriend’s boyfriend for looming creepily in the thoroughfare disappears as she sees what he’s gazing at.    


“Looking for something specific?” she asks. 

“Why is that aisle closed?” West’s hands are folded across his middle, sans basket. 

“It’s Aisle 5,” she replies. As though that should be explanation enough. “You have to be 18 to enter. Did you bring your passport? Or your student ID? They’ll take that. Miskatonic helped open this place.”

He shakes his head.

“Wait here,” she smirks, darting over to the front counter to chat with the proprietrix. Hester Poe’s smile is full of steel and mischief as she gives a slight nod of permission, holding Meg’s basket while she goes running back.

“We’re good!” Meg smiles, drawing the curtain aside. “After you.”

Sneaking into the “18 and over” aisle had been an early goal of her teenage years, back when Hester’s hair was pink instead of grey. The opportunity had finally arrived during Homecoming season her sophomore year, slipping away from her cousin, Stella, and ducking behind the lace curtain before anyone could notice. The small, enclosed gauntlet had made her blush all the way down to her toes...

Aisle 5 has “gently used” leather and ritual gear. Racks. And  _ racks _ of leather jackets, boots, vests, mesh and linen shirts, ceremonial robes that still smelled like myrrh and sage. In addition to the leather gear, there were ritual knives, in a glass clase. There were large pieces that had clearly been part of someone’s outdoor altar, a few relics from the bank and the church of Dagon including a granite relief of Cthylla and the Red Maiden, medieval-looking torture devices. Plenty strange but nothing they could use at the house and nothing Meg could even  _ begin  _ to afford with her remaining pocket change. It’s just as well, she thinks. She can always make her own floggers and switches.

Meg doesn’t realize she’s said that bit out loud until West grimaces at her.

”Sorry! That’s probably too much information,” she says. She tamps down a laugh at the grimace on top of his bewildered horror.

“This  _ entire aisle _ is too much information,” he says. Though Meg can’t help but follow his eyes through the glass case to a row of antique magnifying glasses and fob watches. 

“Says the man who wants to raise the dead?”

“To save the  _ living _ ,” he says, affronted.

“Yeah, I’ll hold you to that the next time you suggest raiding the cemetery, Canadian Ed Gein.” A spot of ecru lace catches her eye and she reaches for the hanger. The gown is sheer in places with a pleasant heaviness that says it will block the cold. “What do you think of this?”

“You’re asking  _ me? _ ”

“You’re the one who wanted to come back here.” She fingers the material, searching for a tag. The ragged edges and at least one spot that might be blood explains why this gorgeous piece has made its way to Mother Hydra's. “Come on, this thing is $2.50. Yes or no?”

“Are you going to be wearing it in the basement?” he asks tersely.

“Not anytime soon.”

“Then yes. Help me break into this case?”

“Not a chance. Meet you outside. You’ve got seven minutes.”

\--

Dan finds a working toaster (2.00), a dark leather ottoman (1.00), and a Wurlitzer organ (50 cents) in defiance of any comments from the “half-pint peanut gallery.”

“Do you even know how to play this thing?” West asks, looking skeptical as they load it into the back of the car.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he winks.

“Don’t encourage him,” Meg echoes. “Strange, definitely Dan. But is it  _ useful _ ?”

“It will be when the power goes out and I have to entertain you two,” he replies, shutting the trunk door. “Your turn -- what’d you get?”

Meg opens the bag to display her own haul: the lace garden gown from Aisle 5 (2.50), a pound of winter clothing and intimates (1.00), a winged gryphon plushie (75 cents) and a ukulele (1.50).

“To entertain myself,” she says, smirking at Dan’s reaction.

“Right! So far I’m winning,” Dan grins. “Herbert? What do you--”

West’s expression is inscrutable as he produces his own bag. Full of coils of floral wire, string, cable ties, screws, springs, broken alligator clips. Broken components of things that were  _ once _ useful, though so far reduced as to make it impossible to discern their original purpose

“You got a bag of useless crap?” Dan asks, flabbergasted.

“For  _ free _ ,” he replies, giving Meg a knowing look as he produces a brass magnifier from his pocket. 

A beat.    
  
“Huh, You... win? I guess? You said you weren’t playing!”

“Oh, I’m still not,” West smirks. “Shall we depart to the cafe up the street?”

“Are you buying for all of us?” Meg asks, skeptical about how her housemate was going to make whatever change he had secreted away stretch to cover three lattes. 

“I came into an unexpected bump in income by way of Ms. Poe’s exchange table. I should have enough for three drinks and dessert. 

“What did you sell to them, Herbert?” Dan asks, looking more concerned than impressed.

The victrola, audible through the front door to the establishment, abruptly stops. Followed by a low, animalistic rumbling.

Dan stares.

“You didn’t!”

“He did,” Meg replies. “Let’s go.” 

\--

They get three drip coffees and a Bakewell tart to go. Dan spends the night playing “Take me to the River” on the organ while Meg spot-cleans her new gown which, with the addition of the long-sleeved thermal (arms too long, thumbholes sliced in the cuffs with a nail file) goes a long way to blocking out the draft. 

“What are we thinking for dinner?” she calls out as she exits the bathroom. “Mac and cheese casserole with leftover fried chicken? Or mac and cheese casserole with beans on toast?”

She stops short of the living room, taking in the tableau of Dan at the organ, West sitting on the floor next to the coffee table.

West has used his bag of bartered “crap” to build an apparatus, clamped to a small dissection pan from downstairs. The wire, springs, and alligator clips have been converted into a ‘third hand’ with an adjustable light emitting diode and the coveted magnifier. Meg blinks, distracted by the ingenuity for a long moment. Until her housemate begins to speak.

“Beans on toast,” Dan replies.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” West says.

“West.”

“Dan says I need to spend more time upstairs and we already have a box of latex gloves under the sofa and surgical lube in the hidden drawer of the coffee table.” 

“Fine. But you're going to eat dinner. And I’m not keeping Mona out of your shenanigans. Don’t yell at me when cat hair contaminates the samples.”

“Why would the cat—“

“Start dissecting that liver from downstairs and you’ll find out!”

**Author's Note:**

> More of the wonderful world-building of Arkham, Mass. At this point, it might be easier to just explain the non-Lovecraft references.
> 
> Hester Poe is an original character (because Lovecraft works need more ladies). Aisle 5 is an homage to the Howard Brown Health Center's Brown Elephant resale shops here in Chicago. The closed aisles _do_ sell gently used leather gear, but no esoteric antiques.
> 
> Also, [this](https://archive.org/details/78_spooky-ooky-blues_green-brothers-novelty-band-carl-vandersloot_gbia0171614a/SPOOKY-OOKY+BLUES+-+GREEN+BROTHERS+NOVELTY+BAND.flac) is the song playing at Mother Hydra's.


End file.
